Fire and Ice
by ToryTigress92
Summary: Another one of my Beckabeths! In this one we find out how Governor Swann knew Beckett before he became a lord,and there's going to be lots of smut and fight between our favourite pairing! Please R&R!
1. Childhood Memories

Fire and Ice

* * *

_**You are the Fire Lily, and I am the Ice King**_

_**Does fire melt ice? Or ice put out fire?**_

_**Or may they come together, fire and ice, neither melted nor quenched?**_

* * *

Elizabeth shivered, the rain coursing down her back, as she knelt in her wedding gown, groomless. She stared unseeingly into the harbour, easily seen from the church, and felt her heart sink.

The blue standard of the East India Trading Company fluttered in the storm, flying proudly from the masts of the galleons assembled upon the undulating waves. Elizabeth felt something she had not felt for so long, not since that night on the _Black Pearl_, when she had discovered the nature of the pirates' curse. Fear.

She heard the tramp of boots on the cobbles behind her, and she raced towards the loggia where her father and the wedding guests stood, sheltered slightly from the tropical storm. Her senses zeroed in on one person, Will, drenched and shivering in manacles. Rage overtook her for one moment, how dare they? She barely heard her father's voice, as he furiously commanded the officers to free Will. A figure in a caped greatcoat turned and Elizabeth didn't spare him a glance, until his velvet smooth voice reverberated through her.

"Governor Weatherby Swann, it's been too long," the languid drawl had Elizabeth turning her head, and stared into ice blue eyes, cold and calculating. She repressed a shiver, feeling the flames of her anger rising, but she kept them at bay, reminding herself of propriety and the fact they were surrounded by dozens of marines. But her father's voice tore her from her speculative reverie.

"Cutler Beckett?" her father's voice was the essence of surprise and confusion. Elizabeth felt his name stick within her memory, tugging insistently at her consciousness. But why?

"It's Lord now, actually," came the coolly controlled reply, the tone conversational. Elizabeth inwardly snorted derisively, although she didn't know why. But then his eyes skewered her, and she felt her tenuous control shake, her temper loosening its bonds. Her eyes spat sparks at him, for his impudent gaze, but he appeared unmoved.

"Lord or not, you have no right or authority to arrest this man," Governor Swann gestured to Will. Beckett merely smirked.

"In fact I do. Mr Mercer?" a plain, pockmarked gentlemen stepped up to his master's side, handing him a leather-bound sheaf of papers. Beckett's eyes flicked to the document, before they returned to Elizabeth's face, and handed it to her father. Governor Swann sighed heavily, looking disapprovingly at Will. Elizabeth focussed on her fiancé's face, Beckett's disconcerting gaze back on her features, a small smirk playing on his mouth. She refused to let him get to her, let him bait her temper.

"But this one is for Elizabeth Swann," Governor Swann said, incomprehension in his voice.

"Oh is it? That's annoying. Arrest her," Lord Beckett replied, not appearing at all unruffled and gestured to Elizabeth.

"On what charges!" Elizabeth asked her tone high-pitched in shock. She inwardly winced; she sounded like one of those wilting wall flowers that had once been her peers. She ignored Will's shocked "NO!" fighting against the iron hands holding her prisoner. She felt the cold iron of the manacles slip around her wrists, abrading the soft skin. It enraged her, giving her the strength to shout angrily.

"What are the charges!"

Beckett who had been pacing in front of them, like a lawyer, cross-examining her father over James's disappearance, turned his gaze back to her face, taking in the flames flickering within her eyes, her cheeks blushing with a fevered flush of rage. She looked down her nose at him, as much as she was able to whilst held prisoner. His smirk only grew, irritating Elizabeth further. She summoned her haughtiest tone, as he spoke again.

"I don't believe that was the answer to the question I asked," he remarked dryly to her father.

"Lord Beckett, in the category of questions not answered…." Will began furiously.

"We are under the jurisdiction of the King's Governor of Port Royal, and you will tell us what we are charged with," Elizabeth interrupted, her tone challenging and commanding. Beckett regarded her coolly, his eyes calculatingly curious. Her father was the one that answered their question in the end.

"The charge is conspiracy to free a man convicted of crimes against the crown and empire, and condemned to death, for which the punishment is also…" Governor Swann's tone changed from derisive to horrified shock, tailing off.

"For which the punishment is also regrettably death," Beckett continued, relishing his words, watching his captives for signs of fear. Will's eyes flashed with righteous anger, and concern for Elizabeth. Elizabeth's eyes blazed, her hackles rising, wanting to tear him limb from limb. Beckett could see it, his smile growing by the second. "Perhaps you remember a certain pirate by the name of Jack Sparrow?"

"Captain!" they both burst out. Will's eyes flicked to hers, but she was focussed entirely on the man in front of them.

"Captain Jack Sparrow," she continued, one eyebrow rising arrogantly.

"Captain Jack Sparrow. Yes I thought you might," Beckett's smirk deepened, triumph dancing in his eyes. All Elizabeth knew, as she and Will were dragged away, was that he would pay dearly for his arrogance, one day.

* * *

"Well, well Governor Swann. I must congratulate you. She's grown into a lovely girl," Beckett commented dryly, as Weatherby Swann appeared at his shoulder, fury sparking in his old eyes.

"You will not get away with this Beckett," he said, his voice quavering slightly. Beckett's smile widened as he arrogantly surveyed the Governor down his nose.

"That's Lord to you, Swann. And on the contrary, I already have," and with that he swung his caped greatcoat onto his shoulders, and strode into the rain to his waiting horse, Mercer beside him.

Elizabeth felt bereft, as Will tore from h

* * *

er grasp, off on his mission to save them. He was to find Jack, retrieve his compass and return to Port Royal to secure their freedom. But somehow, she knew things would not be so simple. Her father watched her through the bars, his face creased with concern.

"Father, I felt as though I recognised Beckett, but I honestly cannot remember where from," Elizabeth started, her face imploring her father to help her remember.

"I'm not surprised, you were very young, and you only met briefly, as far as I know. It was just before we left to come here, to the Caribbean. Remember?"

Memories stirred upon the surface of her mind. "I think I do," she said softly, her mind a million miles away.

* * *

_The young man, dressed in a plain black coat and boots, with buckskin breeches sat in front of the desk of her father. He sat behind, a dark brown wig upon his head, his face still young and unwrinkled. The ten year-old Elizabeth sat behind the banisters of the stairs listening avidly to the cool yet angered voices within._

"_Mr Beckett you deliberately disobeyed a direct order from the King to go gallivanting off after pirates! And you lost a whole parcel of slaves into the bargain!" her father was saying, his tone brooking no argument._

"_I know that, but the pirate I was 'gallivanting' after, was the pirate who lost the slaves in the first place. What was I supposed to do, leave him to get away with it?" Beckett argued back, one hand raised as though he were a lawyer presenting his case. Her father sighed._

"_Look, Beckett I have done all I can. You are to be sent to India, in the ranks of the East India Trading Company, and truth be told I think it best. The king is not best pleased, and it might be better for you to play least in sight, at least for a few years,"_

"_You mean you're throwing me off your staff, to rot in India for God knows how many years!"_

"_It is the best I can do, and am willing to do. Your father asked me to look after you, and this is easiest solution I can see," her father continued calmly, pouring himself a brandy. Elizabeth squinted through the gap in the banisters._

"_Ahh yes, my father. I see he is the only reason I am not be fed to the wolves. Tell me, what did he offer you to stop my total disgrace?" Beckett asked his tone cutting and sarcastic. Her father appeared unruffled. _

"_In a week's time I sail to Jamaica, to take up the Governor's post in Port Royal and that will be the end of this matter,"_

"_Ahh I see. The promise of a life in idyllic luxury, in return for sending me to that festering hellhole," Beckett remarked, a sardonic smirk in his eyes, although his face was blank. "I gave you my loyalty, uncompromising and unswerving, and you repay me like this?" he snarled._

"_You go too far, Mr Beckett. You are an inferior to me, and as such I owe you nothing," her father snapped. Elizabeth jumped, and knocked her knee against the banister, and cringed. They would be sure to have heard that, they would know she had been eavesdropping. But when the young man had appeared in the hallway, and had so courteously bowed to her, despite her young years and not being introduced, Elizabeth couldn't go back to her pianoforte practice. "Elizabeth?"_

"_Yes. Father?" she sighed, and slipped through the half-open door into the warm study. She wore a gown of blue chiffon, hugging her slim little girl's frame. Brown ringlets bounced around her ears as she walked forward, hands behind her back, head cast down._

"_My daughter Elizabeth, Mr Beckett," he gestured to the young man sitting languidly in the chair. His aggression had disappeared, replaced by a cool courtesy. He stood and bowed over her hand._

"_Miss Swann…."_

"_And now I think it is time you were leaving, Mr Beckett. Your ship to India is on the evening tide. Elizabeth will show you out," her father continued, interrupting the silent communication passing between them, ice blue eyes to her wide, round chocolate ones. Beckett straightened, giving her father a dismissive glance, who was already reading through a sheaf of papers as though he had forgotten they were there. Elizabeth led the way from the room._

_In the cool hallway, a footman held the front door open, whilst Beckett shrugged into his greatcoat, and Elizabeth watched him curiously._

"_What are you looking at, girl?" he asked, arrogance pouring from every orifice. Caught off guard, Elizabeth jumped._

"_You," she answered plainly, still openly appraising him. As those sapphire eyes locked onto hers, surprise emanating from them, she spoke in a rush. "I think Father's wrong to be sending you away. I think you did the right thing to go after that pirate. It must have been awfully exciting!" _

_Beckett stared down at the little girl, only just dipping her dainty toe in the sludge that was adulthood, and felt a strange sense of kinship with her. Slowly, he knelt down before her, taking her hand in his._

"_Miss Swann that is very kind of you but….."_

"_I don't want you to go. I'll convince father to let you stay; will you take me with you, to fight pirates?" Elizabeth was almost bouncing up and down in excitement, wonderful nonsensical images forming in her head._

"_No, Miss Swann I cannot take you with me. The world I live in is no place for a child," he answered softly, trying to avoid being patronising. But he didn't succeed._

"_I am not a child!" Elizabeth said proudly, flames sparking in her innocent eyes. "Soon I will be a woman!"_

"_Yes of that I have no doubt. How old are you?" he asked, suddenly curious. Elizabeth elevated her chin one last notch._

"_I will be eleven in August."_

"_Almost a lady, and a fine lady you will make, living in the Caribbean," he said soothingly, easing her temper._

"_I don't want to be a lady, I want to fight pirates and sail on the seas forever, free as a bird!" Elizabeth exclaimed, suddenly fearful of the journey to Jamaica._

"_But the Caribbean is so beautiful…." Beckett described the loveliness of the tropical sunsets, the lush jungles, the pure white beaches, the cool palms trees and lagoons, the bustling towns and ports, painting verbal pictures in his refined voice. Elizabeth listened, enraptured. "So it may not be so awful, Miss Elizabeth," he finished, taking her hand and kissing the knuckles as he would a grown up lady. Elizabeth giggled, finding she like the way he said her name and did not treat her with patronising forbearance. As Beckett made to stand and leave, Elizabeth made a small sound of protest. He smiled down at her, his cynical heart refreshed by her innocence._

"_Don't go! I will persuade Father to let you stay, or come to the Caribbean with us!" Elizabeth implored him, forgetting all the propriety she had ever been taught._

"_I can't, my little friend. But I have some advice for you, before I go. You are so spirited, and you must not let anyone take that from you, not even your father. Your spirit is your greatest asset, and might be useful one day. But remember this: do not give your loyalty so easily, for loyalty is not the currency of the realm any longer," and with that cryptic advice, he bowed to her, chucked her chin and swept out of the door. Despite her giggle, Elizabeth stood there, confused for a very long time._

* * *

"Yes I do remember," Elizabeth said, leaning back against the stone wall of the cell. And the memory angered her all the more…


	2. Dealing With The Devil

Fire and Ice

* * *

"There's something to knowing the exact shape of the world, and one's place in it, don't you agree?" Beckett swung the elegantly wrought sword around, to point at the pathetic, shrunken figure before him. Behind him, an artist stood, carefully painting in the outline of a galleon upon the blue sea.

Governor Swann held out his manacled wrists imploringly, the wrists bloodied and swollen.

"I assure you this isn't necessary,"

"I had you brought here because I thought you'd be interested in the whereabouts of your daughter," Beckett continued, flicking the blade up to admire its sheen in the Caribbean sunlight.

"You have news of her?" Swann asked; hope stirring in the depths of his eyes. Beckett just watched him with a cruelly amused smirk. It was Mercer who eventually answered him.

"Most recently seen on the island of Tortuga and then left in the company of a known pirate, Jack Sparrow, and other fugitives from justice,"

"Justice? Hardly," Swann said derisively to himself, before he looked to Beckett, as he spoke again.

"Including the previous owner of this sword I believe," Beckett sheathed the sword, reverently placing it back into its casket. "Our ships are in pursuit. Justice will be dispensed by cannonade and cutlass, and all manner of remorseless pieces of metal. I personally find it distasteful to even contemplate the horror facing all those on board," and with that calculated last, Beckett glanced over his shoulder to Swann, watching and waiting for his reaction. Swann looked down, defeated. Beckett felt triumph well within him at the sight.

"What do you want from me?" he finally asked, wringing his hands.

"Your authority as governor, your influence in London, and your loyalty to the East India Trading Company," Beckett replied, turning and walking towards him slowly, arrogant and commanding. Swann smirked momentarily, when Beckett stopped a few paces away.

"To you, you mean," he said the statement a fact, not a question. Beckett's amused smirk only grew.

"Shall I remove these shackles?" he asked, walking closer, so Swann's eyes could not escape his. Swann looked down, and then sighed before he raised his wrists.

"Do what you can for my daughter,"

At a nod from Beckett, Mercer stepped forward to unlock his chains, and Swann rubbed the bloody welts on his wrists ruefully, sending Mercer a contemptuous glare. Beckett turned away, triumph and arrogance shining in his eyes.

"So you see, Mercer, every man had a price he will willingly accept. Even for what he hoped never to sell,"

* * *

Swann looked up, alarm raging in his eyes. Beckett sat behind his desk, crossing his booted legs, steepled his fingers and regarded Swann speculatively from his chair. Swann hesitated, and then walked forward.

"Now Governor Swann, we shall discuss how best to ensure your daughter's safety, according to our bargain,"

"I see no reason why you cannot simply return her to me, when you capture Sparrow and the others. I will take care of her," Swann said, confusion in the crease of his brows. Beckett smiled, contemplating his reaction to his next words.

"No, no Governor Swann. You may be able to restrain her until her companions' executions, but after? You will not be able to control her, yet alone salvage her reputation. Indeed, it is already blighted by her previous association with pirates; this latest will effectively destroy it, rip it into irreparable shreds. So I see only one option, within my power to help her,"

"Why do you care so much? She has nothing to do with your plans!" Swann exploded, walking forward threateningly. Beckett raised a brow, wagging his finger warningly, patronizingly.

"Ah ah ah, Governor. Be very careful. I may decide to go back on our bargain. As to why I am so concerned, you will soon realise why. As I see it, the only way to effectively contain, control and salvage Miss Swann and her reputation would be for her to become my wife,"

"You mean to marry her!" Swann asked incredulously. Beckett merely sighed impatiently, as though Swann's not taking anything in quick enough was beginning to annoy him.

"That is, I believe, what I just intimated to you. As my wife, Miss Swann will not only regain her reputation but also complete safety from retribution by the law. Really it is her only option, seeing as she failed to kill me a few weeks ago," Beckett explained, smirking at the memory of the spirited, fiery young woman he had met again, the night of her ruined wedding. Such a far cry from the innocent young miss he had encountered, and been charmed by, in Governor Swann's London hallway.

"She will never accept it, nor agree to it. She is too wilful for you to ever control, Lord Beckett," Swann told him, desperately searching for a way out of this predicament.

"Would you rather go back upon your bargain? Be thrown back into jail to await trial and execution, perhaps alongside your own daughter? It makes little difference to me,"

"When we made this deal, I was not aware that in agreeing to it, I would be effectively selling my own daughter off to you!" Swann gesticulated wildly.

"Calm yourself, Governor Swann. Elizabeth is a smart girl, I think when we do catch up with her, she will be quickly brought to see things my way," Beckett said soothingly, with a quirk of his eyebrow. "You would be in a better position to help her out of jail, than in one," he continued, driving in his spike a little more. It didn't really matter; he would get what he wanted eventually. After a few moments desperate thinking, Governor Swann hung his head and sighed dejectedly.

"Yes, I agree," he said quietly, not meeting Beckett's eyes. Beckett grinned, and relaxed back into his chair.

"Excellent," and with that he waved away his future father-in-law, and settled back to plan exactly how he would, when he caught up with Elizabeth, bring her around to his way of thinking. His grin turned predatorial at the thought.


	3. Dance With The Devil

Fire And Ice

* * *

Elizabeth hugged herself closer to Jack's chest, hiding her gaze from the slowly sinking _Dutchman_, as the maelstrom took it into the depths of the sea, her husband along with it. Jones had stabbed him through the heart.

The grief welled up, painful and black, and her grip slowly began to loosen on Jack's shirt. She just wanted to drop into the sea, and let its wet embrace take her. Maybe she would see Will again. She had nothing left to live for; Beckett had taken everything from her. Not even thoughts of vengeance could cede their way into her mourning consciousness. She very much wanted to crawl beneath a rock and stay there until her bones turned to dust.

One word brought her back from her emotional precipice.

"Bugger," she heard Jack mutter, and she opened her eyes to stare at his face. They were using a sail as a kind of airborne float, ensuing they did not hit the water with a smack that would pulverise their bodies. But they had floated the wrong way; they were now looming over the EITC armada, the white sails gleaming in the sunlight as the clouds cleared.

"Bugger," Elizabeth returned the sentiment, trying to keep her grip on Jack's shirt. But her hands were covered in slime from the _Dutchman_ and her grip was fast becoming tenuous.

She slipped, as the wind blew them towards a massive great monster of a warship, which she recognised with a surge of dread as the _Endeavour_. They were slowly descending, the wind dying, and they would hit the water with a gentle splash. But it was too late for Elizabeth; she lost her grip entirely and with a cry, she fell into the ocean. She barely heard Jack's surprised yell, beyond the rush of air in her ears. She dimly saw Jack's boots, dirty and wet; she noticed Jack the monkey shivering as he clung to the ropes. But then she hit the water, and it felt like hitting marble. The air was crushed out of her lungs, and she sank beneath its undulating waves, her vision speckled with black. The last thing she saw, as she dropped into the peaceful blue depths was Jack's worried face as the wind changed again, and he was blown away, back to the pirates' side. Then she gave herself to the sea.

* * *

"Elizabeth! Elizabeth?" at the alarmed cry, Elizabeth gradually returned to the land of the living. She opened her eyes, swollen and crusty from sea salt, wincing from the light and wondered how she was still alive.

The first thing she registered was that she lay upon a hard surface, possibly wood considering the knots in the surface that she could see. A cold wind lifted the wet strands of hair from her face, and the voice calling her name seemed somehow familiar. Warm arms caught her up, hugging her to a chest, and for one wild moment she thought Will was alive once more, but when she managed to focus, surprise flooded her.

Dressed in a dark green frock coat, cradling her like some fragile treasure was her father, desperately searching her eyes.

"F-father?" Elizabeth spluttered, choking on seawater. She clutched at his lapel, searching his eyes. If she was with her father, then where was she?

Dimly, she became aware of another figure, standing beside her father, looking down upon them. A figure which sent lightning hot shards of anger and dread through her.

"Miss Swann. Welcome to the _Endeavour_," Lord Beckett smirked, his smile predatorial as he stared down at the bedraggled woman cradled in her father's arms.

* * *

Elizabeth struggled to ignore the warmth in the arms holding her, carrying her into the devil's lair itself. She did not want to feel the heat, or the surprising muscle in the arms supporting her.

She was laid upon a small sofa in the captain's cabin, her father perching beside her once Beckett had deigned to move away after he had deposited her hence. Her father stroked her hair tenderly, smiling down at her. Elizabeth could only lie in shock and surprise. If she was on the _Endeavour_, then why wasn't she in the brig? Why hadn't Beckett merely had her shot dead in the water, rather than rescue her? Her shock was compounded further, by the solicitous manner in which he bent over her.

"She is probably dehydrated from the amount of seawater she ingested; she needs rest," he told her father, after looking her over with a practiced eye.

"Oh? And what makes you an expert?" Elizabeth said sardonically. Her voice came out in a dry croak. Her father hushed her, but Beckett only smiled his most superior, his most infuriatingly arrogant smirk.

"Many years spent fighting in India, my dear Miss Swann. Now you are no doubt wondering why you weren't merely shot on sight, or thrown in the brig upon arrival? Yes?" he inquired with a raised eyebrow.

Elizabeth nodded, her suspicion in her eyes. She didn't trust his benevolence; he could turn as quick as a viper.

"Simply enough, Miss Swann. I made a deal with your father; he demanded your safety in return for his services. I always make good on my promises-"

"Only when it suits you, my lord," she interrupted sarcastically.

"Lord Beckett, now may not be the best time to tell her," Governor Swann said in a whispered aside, his eyes almost begging him to desist. Beckett watched him amusedly.

"Maybe you're right; it would be more….appropriate to tell her myself, alone, when she is recovered…"

"SHE has a name!" Elizabeth muttered furiously to herself, wondering what they were talking about. Beckett's eyes flicked to hers, his amusement only growing.

"Elizabeth…" Governor Swann said warningly. Elizabeth fell silent beneath the warning in his eyes. Beckett turned away to his desk, his lieutenants fluttering around him like acolytes around their master. Elizabeth watched them through cynically amused eyes.

"Send this party of ships around to the east; we'll send the fireships to rout the pirates from there, where the wind can carry them. The main body will attack from here, send the schooners with the fireships for protection. Have the galleons form a defensive line in front of the main fleet; they'll be our main force during the attack….." Beckett's strategy gradually pierced the morass of exhaustion in Elizabeth's brain. Her ears pricked up, before she remembered she was Beckett's prisoner and far from being to help her comrades.

"Elizabeth? What has happened?" Governor Swann asked. He saw the sudden sadness in her eyes, the weary signs of grief in her face, the dimmed pain in her bearing, as though she were missing some vital part of her organs. Elizabeth turned back to him, her mind full of Will, and she saw the alarm in her father's face when he saw the black, roiling sorrow within her. "Has something happened to Will?"

Governor Swann's words had been a little too loud; out of the corner of her eye, Elizabeth saw Beckett look up from his maps and papers, watching her piercingly, calculatingly.

"My husband is dead," Elizabeth said, enunciating each word carefully, so as to avoid breaking down before the assembled officers. Every breath was painful, like red-hot claws raking down her throat. "He went down with the _Dutchman_," Elizabeth finished, flinching as the memory flashed, searing painfully across her mind. Pity filled her father's eyes, and Elizabeth focussed upon them, rather than acknowledge Beckett's gaze upon her. But she didn't want her father's pity.

"Maybe we should discuss this elsewhere," Governor Swann said, flicking a glance over his shoulder to Beckett. He stood, and turned to Lord Beckett. "Lord Beckett, if you do not mind, I wish to take my daughter below, to rest in our cabin," he said, his tone brooking no argument.

* * *

Beckett's eyebrows rose. So the worm has a spine after all, he thought amusedly to himself. As it was, the pirate was a distraction anyway.

"By all means….if the pirate needs to rest, then take her somewhere more conducive to that purpose," he said silkily. Elizabeth was too weak to do more than glare at him, as her father helped her solicitously to her feet and half-carried her out of the cabin.

* * *

Elizabeth ran the sponge over her filthy skin, and couldn't help the sigh of delight that she was finally clean again. She felt the material rub over bruises and cuts, eliciting sharp hisses from between her teeth. Finally having finished her ablutions; she threw the sponge back into its basin and slipped her chemise over her head. Next, she threw on her light linen nightgown, revelling in the softly clean material. It felt like heaven after the stiff leather and coarse materials of the pirate clothes she had worn for so long. But she missed her breeches; the skirts of her chemise and nightgown caught around her legs. She shrugged into the golden yellow dressing gown, embroidered with flowers, and deemed herself fit to meet her father. She rolled her eyes at his earlier insistence that she clean herself up.

After Beckett had allowed them to go, Governor Swann had escorted her down to a cabin, a small but airy room which had evidently had been prepared for her. Her trunks had been against the walls, containing all of her clothing, much to Elizabeth's disappointment, her personal effects and books, as though her father knew that she would be sent back to him.

After which he had arranged for water to be sent so she could bathe, and left her to rest and recuperate. Not that she needed it; Elizabeth's trials had long since toughened her up, and not even nearly drowning would keep her on her back for long. Not when her Brethren were being slaughtered, a few leagues distant. The _Endeavour_ had pulled away, to float in the very centre of the fleet, to act as a command centre whilst the rest of the armada did the slaughtering.

Obviously Lord Beckett doesn't like getting his hands dirty, Elizabeth thought to herself with a sneer. Sounds of cannonade and gunshots still filled the air outside, Elizabeth struggled to ignore them, couldn't fight the images being conjured by her all-too vivid imagination. Her knuckles turned white as she stared out of the window, as they fisted on the wooden sill of the porthole.

* * *

Cursing her restricted view; she moved to the larger bay windows on the opposite wall, and watched, as in the distance, two ships fought port side to starboard side. One was clearly an EITC ship, the other had to be a pirate vessel. Elizabeth felt her heart race, watching the two ships' dogfight. But it was clear the pirate vessel could not win; the EITC vessel was a huge third-rater, built for eradicating its enemies on the sea.

Elizabeth closed her eyes and uttered a prayer for the doomed souls aboard the pirate vessel. She hoped they died quickly, as free men, than being hauled back to face a public execution. She suddenly wondered what had happened to Jack, Barbossa and the _Pearl_.

"See anything interesting?" a cold, arrogant voice said behind her. Elizabeth spun from the window to face Lord Beckett. Anger blazed through her; she raised her hand to slap his face, impotent fury blurring her senses.

"Wretch!"

But he caught her wrist easily, holding her imprisoned in a grip of iron. Letting her feel his strength, hidden but still there.

"Now that is telling, when the notoriously cool Captain Swann loses her temper," Beckett said, his tone taunting, Elizabeth wrenching her hand away, glaring at him furiously.

"If I had a pistol now, I wouldn't hesitate to fire this time," she told him warningly, her voice so low it was almost a growl. Beckett smiled.

"I always did wonder why you never killed me when you had the chance. I would have done so, if I were you," he said, his tone bored.

"Because I am not like you, my lord," the honorific was sarcastic in tone, scathing in articulation, as though she thought him lower than some sort of parasite. Beckett merely smiled amusedly.

"I beg to differ, Miss Swann. Or is it Mrs Turner now?" he asked, a smirk on his face.

"I don't think my name has anything to do with you Beckett," Elizabeth said, her own eyebrow rising arrogantly.

"That is Lord Beckett to you, my dear, and it does have very much to do with me,"

"Oh? And why is that?" Elizabeth asked, curious despite herself. Maybe she would discover what her father and he had been talking about in the captain's cabin.

"All in good time, my dear. Now I have some things to ask of you, my dear. Firstly…"

"As if I would ever agree to anything you ask of me!" Elizabeth exploded, folding her arms obstinately. Her chin rose haughtily, and Beckett eyed it, wondering how to manage her resistance. He decided to continue as though she had not spoken.

"Firstly I must ask you not to attempt escape. You know the pain, as well as other things, that that would inflict upon your father. As for what else I have to ask of you, I wish to invite you to dine with me tonight, to discuss your future,"

Elizabeth froze at the inherent threat. If she escaped, her father would bear the punishment. But she couldn't stay, wouldn't stay to be Beckett's prisoner. As for her future, she had none now Will was dead. But she had to think of her father.

"Very well, my lord," she sighed, inclining her head in agreement. "It seems I have little choice, either way,"

"No you don't," Beckett agreed with an amused smirk and a raised eyebrow.

* * *

Elizabeth watched her reflection in the mirror and cursed. She had just finished dressing for her dinner with Lord Beckett, whilst all she wanted to do was hide under the covers of her bed. The battle was long over, the pirates scattered or destroyed. Elizabeth had been forced to watch from her cabin window, body aching with helplessness, her father putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. She had just lost Will, now she had lost her Brethren.

But now she couldn't deny that despite all that had happened, she did look good. Too good.

Her gown was a creation of sober silks, in shades of navy blue and ebony black. Suitable, considering she was in mourning. The sleeves hugged her arms, before ending at her wrists in a fluff of lace. The long skirts looked like a waterfall at night, gleaming in the soft candlelight from the lanterns. She grimaced at her reflection, feeling the restrictive whalebone around her waist. Her long golden hair was loose down her back, contrasting sharply with the dark gown, and she wore a pair of silver earrings. She looked unbelievably young; she looked like her mother, Elizabeth now realised. Except for the serious, sad brown eyes that watched her warily from her reflection. A knock came at her door; with a sigh, Elizabeth turned on her low stool, stood and went to meet her captor.

* * *

Lord Beckett sat in his chair, holding a glass of wine by the stem, admiring the ruby gleam. A knock came at the door, he sighed in expectation, uncrossed his legs and stood.

"Come," he called, his tone commanding. The cabin door opened to reveal Elizabeth, escorted by a guard. He waved the guard away, and Elizabeth stepped over the threshold, haughty arrogance a match for his. She looked down her nose at him, and he struggled not to chuckle. Her arrogance was amusing and intriguing to see.

"My dear, welcome. Come, sit," he gestured to a chair, standing in the process. Elizabeth went to one as far down the table away from him as possible, but he intercepted her and handed her into one directly beside his, at the head of the table. Elizabeth glared at him, then at the hand lying in the small of her back still. Beckett eventually removed it, turning to sit in his own seat. Elizabeth studied his form covertly.

He was only an inch taller than her, but he was as broad-shouldered and strongly built as many far taller than he. His was the build of a fencer, compact but powerful. She had to admit he had an aura of strength about him, which rendered him attractive, one built from strength of intelligence rather than brawn. His features were immaculate, yet not weak. Indeed, she snorted at the very idea of his being weak. He was like a viper; underestimate him and it would be the last thing you ever did. She imprinted the maxim on her heart, to remind her in the discussion to come.

"Something amuses you?" he asked, turning to face her as he sat. Elizabeth quickly schooled her face into cool blankness.

"Nothing at all, my lord," she said quietly. Beckett's eyes focussed on her face, trying to penetrate her icy shield.

"Well then, please eat," and with that he seemed to forget her, all his attention focussed on the spread set out for them. Elizabeth couldn't help it; her mouth began to water. For one moment, she allowed herself to forget her predicament, and the company, and set herself to enjoy the meal.

She hadn't eaten for twelve hours at least. On a pirate ship there wasn't much else except grog and biscuits. But now she was dining on freshly roasted beef, with sugared carrots and potatoes. The meat melted on her tongue; the carrots tasted like heaven and the potato was soft and buttery. She occasionally washed it down with draughts of red wine, exotic and spicy. She couldn't help but close her eyes in delight. She had always had an appreciation for the sensual delights of life. Beckett watched her with amusement.

"You're an intriguing young woman, Elizabeth. But then I suppose the fare aboard a pirate ship is not like this?" he asked, gesturing to the food before them. Elizabeth opened her eyes, blushing that she had been caught actually enjoying herself. "You seem to be enjoying it," he pressed, waiting for her reply.

"I was, until you started speaking," she said scathingly. Beckett mock clutched his heart, as if she had wounded him fatally.

"No need for the claws, Elizabeth. I was merely making an observation,"

"Would you please refrain from calling me Elizabeth? I was not aware that I had made you free of my name," Elizabeth snapped, taking a dainty sip of wine, steadfastly ignoring him.

"An oversight on your part, obviously, but I am not one to stand on ceremony. Besides what am I to call you? You did not answer me when I asked you whether I should call you Mrs Turner or Miss Swann," he said, one eyebrow raised, relaxing back into his chair.

"Miss Swann, if you must talk to me," Elizabeth sighed.

"Pity, I liked Elizabeth better. But it will make things easier if you go by your maiden name," Beckett said, setting down his glass and standing to walk behind her. Elizabeth froze, before she set down her cutlery with a _clack_ and tensed her spine.

"Make what easier?" she asked stiffly, inwardly hoping she would discover, once and for all, what he had alluded to that morning.

"Tell me, when did you and Turner marry?" Beckett asked suddenly, ignoring her question. Elizabeth narrowed her eyes.

"_**That**_ is none of your business," she said, turning her gaze to the windows and the darkness beyond it.

"But you will answer the question, regardless," Beckett continued, stopping to place both his hands on Elizabeth's shoulders. They held her in a grip of iron, keeping her seated when she tried to rise, outraged. For some reason he seemed tense, Elizabeth wondered. She decided to capitulate, if only to remove his hands from her skin. The weight of them was doing strange things to her spine. It didn't matter anyway, she told herself, Will was dead. But it galled, nonetheless.

"Very well. If you must know, we married during the battle onboard the Dutchman. Captain Barbossa performed the office," she told him grudgingly.

"You were only married for a few hours? Then it was unconsummated?" he asked bluntly. Elizabeth felt her jaw drop, before she caught it and snapped her mouth shut. "I'll take that as a yes," Beckett said wryly.

"How dare-?" Elizabeth began, but Beckett cut across her.

"I assume you are curious as to what your father was so desperate for you not to know, this morning after we rescued you?"

Elizabeth shut her mouth and nodded. Beckett's hands gentled on her shoulders, and Elizabeth breathed freer. But his next words froze her solid.

"It is very simple, my dear Miss Swann. In order to fulfil my bargain with your father, I shall marry you, to ensure your continued safety.

"What?" Elizabeth cried, standing abruptly, before Beckett could stop her. She span to face him, infuriated.

"I promised your father I would ensure your safety, and the best way to do that would be to give you the protection of my name. In return, your father gave me his loyalty and services," Beckett explained patiently, waiting for the outburst he knew would come. Elizabeth paced away, unable to believe her father would sell her off so easily. But she wouldn't let him. She couldn't marry Beckett. The very thought made her shudder.

"No!" she cried, spinning to face him once more. She tried to walk out past him, but his coldly calm statement stopped her in her tracks.

"How uncaring a daughter. Obviously it means nothing to you that your father will have to bear not only your execution but his own?" Beckett asked of her. Elizabeth paused, her breathing harsh and shallow. If she refused him, not an easy task, he would not only execute her but execute her father too. And that she couldn't allow. He had her over a barrel and he, smug bastard, knew it all too well. She snarled and span, intending to fly at him in fury, but he was already in front of her, his iron fingers wrapped around her chin.

"Bastard!" she growled, trying to free herself, but he was too strong. Flames danced in his eyes, from where they sprung she had no idea, he was usually so icily controlled.

"Be very careful, Elizabeth. I hold the lives of yourself and your father in my palm, mine to do with as I please," he said, his voice worryingly close to a snarl. Elizabeth snatched her chin from his grasp, fire dancing in her own eyes.

"I will never be yours, my lord,"

"You are, Miss Swann, whether you like it or not. And so is your father," he added for good measure. Elizabeth looked away, and the tense atmosphere receded somewhat. "You really have no choice in the matter,"

And she didn't, not that Elizabeth could see. If she refused, she and her father would die, if she married him, her father would live. And so would she, after a fashion. Slave to Lord Beckett's whims.

"How do I know you will not go back on your word?" she asked.

"Please, Miss Swann, you're wounding my honour," Beckett said, one eyebrow raised.

"My heart bleeds, really it does," Elizabeth snapped sarcastically.

"As to that, Miss Swann, I will not go back upon my word. If you accept me, you and your father will be safe," he shrugged his shoulders.

"As if I have a choice. Very well, I will marry you, if it saves my father," she snarled finally, still standing with her back to him. Beckett was becoming tired of staring at her back.

* * *

"Excellent. Now that is decided….look at me," he ordered. His tone was somehow compelling. Elizabeth turned slowly, cheeks burning with degradation and shame. Beckett watched her, watched the defeated young woman, and felt desire rise. His palm curved around her cheek, and although she flinched, she didn't move away. Her eyes burned with tears; she was only just widowed after all, but he saw the awareness in her eyes, grudging maybe but still visible. He could reach her, if he so desired. She wasn't cold to him. But there was something else there, a desire to forget the travesty her life had become.

Elizabeth didn't move as Beckett stepped close, drew her into his arms, and kissed her. She remained passive until the heat in his muscles and his lips thawed her resistance, and she sank against him with a sigh. That very thought that this was wrong, so wrong, had disappeared, replaced only by the communion of their lips, moving oh so slowly against each other's lips. She felt a questing heat over her lips, questioning instead of demanding, and she acquiesced with a sigh. His tongue invaded her mouth, slowly but surely, and she felt the first stirrings of desire begin to rise. Desire for Lord Beckett?

The thought brought her up short, ended her enjoyment of the kiss, but Beckett wasn't about to let her go so easily. His kiss turned aggressive, and Elizabeth found her senses swamped by sensation, as her body responded, independently of her will, and theirs tongues duelled heatedly. She twined her arms around his neck, and he pulled her even closer, holding her against him as he plundered her mouth. Elizabeth gasped and fought to find her mental feet, fighting the desire clogging her mind. But she was far too tired to fight anymore.

Beckett felt her reticence, felt her withdrawal and knew he had to stop. He didn't want to; to find her so responsive despite her apparent antipathy towards him was a heady intoxicant. But she wouldn't submit tonight, not so close to her husband's death. Her body said as much, even if her mind did not. But she would be his, soon. Another thing her mind had not yet discovered or accepted. He drew back with a frustrated sigh, releasing her slightly. Elizabeth blinked, and focussed on his burning blue eyes.

"I should kill you for taking such a liberty," She whispered against his lips, her limbs too weighted by desire to do anything of the kind.

"I know you want to, but you won't. I know what else you want, as well," he whispered suggestively, running his lips across hers one last time. Elizabeth drew away, out of his arms.

"I don't know what you're talking about, but you're clearly deluded, my lord," and with that she escaped him entirely. Beckett smirked predatorily. He felt sure the next few weeks would prove interesting.

* * *

Elizabeth regained the safety of her cabin, her heart racing. She should have felt panicked, yet she didn't. She felt languorously at peace, despite the grief of the day. She changed quickly and slipped into bed. She smiled to herself when she heard her father's snores in the next cabin. She would do anything to save him, she knew and Beckett had exploited her weakness. But now she thought over the deal she and Beckett had made, panic began to rise. What was she to do?

Sleep crept over her, her warm limbs weighted by inescapable recollections of that kiss.


	4. Escalation

Fire and Ice

* * *

_The Endeavour, a fortnight after the events of chapter 3._

Elizabeth stood at the window of her cabin aboard the Endeavour and sighed. She had been stuck inside now for two weeks, on their voyage back to Port Royal, now the pirate fleet was in retreat, and back to her putative marriage to Lord Beckett. She snorted derisively at the thought.

"Something amuses you?" at the question, its tone steeped in weary typically masculine condescension, Elizabeth stiffened. She turned, silk skirts shushing to face the man himself, Lord Beckett. He stood, resplendent in lacquered boots and a navy blue coat and waistcoat. His perfectly coiffed wig gleamed in the sunlight now streaming into the darkened cabin, making Elizabeth blink. The light at the end of the tunnel, she thought sardonically, were it not for him. Feeling his gaze on her, on her face she coloured, mind drawn back to their last encounter. To that kiss…..

She opened her mouth to speak, but he saw the rise of awareness, the flash of colour and, fast as a viper; smoothly snared her hand. Inexorably he drew it to his lips, planting a soft kiss on her knuckles. Enduring the caress, Elizabeth gritted and tried to withdraw her hand gently, but he ignored her increasingly pointed tugging, as he reversed her hand and pressed his cold lips to her inner wrist. Her pulse leapt, her lips parted and Elizabeth strained against her bodice just to breathe. Beckett smirked, inwardly pleased at her reaction. His infuriating smirk only grew, when Elizabeth snatched her wrist back, and said pointedly, her tone bored, disguising the telltale tension in her voice and bearing.

"Good morning, my lord,"

One eyebrow rose, Beckett's face a perfect mask of social boredom.

"I believe I asked you a question, Miss Swann?"

"I was just wondering if you were ever going to let me out of this god-forsaken hole or am I to be confined for the remainder of the voyage."

"By all means, my dear-"

"I'm not your dear!" Elizabeth muttered quietly. Beckett ignored her.

"You may walk on the quarterdeck, in company with myself or your father of course,"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, turning away from Beckett.

"Thank you. I will take a walk later, with my father," the last three words were quietly emphasized. Beckett left her then, with a courteous bow and an amused smile.

* * *

Later that day, Elizabeth blinked in the sunlight, as on her father's arm, she emerged from the dreary gloom of the lower decks. She flicked her parasol up, shielding her slowly fading tanned skin from the sweltering sun. She shook her skirts out, glad that she had remained in her thin morning gown of lemon silk, her long hair pinned up but for one trailing ringlet, as per the fashionable style. Elizabeth cursed to herself as the skirts caught around her legs. How she missed her breeches and boots! She still had them hidden beneath her bunk.

The heat was stifling so Elizabeth was surprised to discover the officers on deck engaged with a duel. A moment later, she realised they were merely sparring, practising their blade skills. Governor Swann paused, unsure, and said, "Perhaps we should return below,"

By then the officers had noticed Elizabeth, hovering in the shade and all bowed courteously bar the two still sparring. Acknowledging their bows with a graceful nod, she strode determinedly forward, ignoring her father's insistent directions to the contrary, eyes fixed on the two duellists, their blades like swirling vortexes of silver flashing in the sun. With a jolt of surprise, she recognised Beckett, coatless and cravatless, fighting tooth and nail against Lieutenant Groves. She was entranced as she watched the two figures weaving and intertwining gracefully.

"Elizabeth?" her father asked again, without much hope.

"No I wish to stay. Any distraction is better than returning below deck," Elizabeth replied vehemently, turning away from the sparring figures to frown at her father.

"If the pirate seeks distraction, then by all means, she may seek it here," said a cool, distinctly arrogant and suggestive voice. Elizabeth stiffened as she span to face Beckett, now standing before her, sabre in hand, barely out of breath, unlike poor Groves who was leaning on his weapon, panting heavily.

"My lord she inclined her head. Beckett's gaze swept her, from the pearl drops in her ears, to the hem of her lemon silk gown. Elizabeth flushed but in the heat no-one noticed.

"Miss Swann," he replied, as he raised her hand to his lips again. Elizabeth steeled herself to feel his lips on her skin. His eyes glinted knowingly, as he brushed a kiss across her fingertips. Elizabeth's knees felt like jelly, and she knew if he did kiss her wrist, she'd swoon. Thankfully he released her, and she raised a weary brow before she and her father moved away to stand by the mast and watch. Beckett moved with them, as Lieutenant Greitzer and Midshipman Jones went at it. Beckett took a position at her shoulder, watching her watching the officers practice.

Elizabeth ran a practiced eye over the duellists, noting weight, stance and speed. Excitement filled her, as the dance of the fight began to draw her in. Beckett watched her animation with interest. Then he remembered the impressive blade skills he had seen her use on the _Dutchman_ during the final battle.

When the midshipman made what would have been a fatal error in battle, Elizabeth unknowingly shook her head.

"He could have recovered, had he not lunged so precipitously," she sighed. Beckett shot her a speculative glance.

"Well why do you not give us a demonstration? Since you are so skilled, Pirate King?" he turned to her with a smug smirk and a raised brow. Elizabeth eyed him narrowly, her pride stung.

Governor Swann made furious negative gestures, as a lady should deny such impertinent suggestions. But Elizabeth was no mere lady.

"Unless you are afraid?" Beckett sneered. Elizabeth's eyes flashed, and she drew herself up haughtily.

"I accept, my lord," she added the honorific sarcastically.

* * *

A few moments later, Elizabeth emerged from her cabin, dressed in breeches, boots and a billowy white shirt she had purloined from her father. She still wore her chemise, corset and elaborate hairstyle. At least her hair would keep out of her eyes, she told herself, blinking in the sunshine. Beckett was making a speech.

"Pirates are unskilled brutes, yet they are cunning; so in order to defeat them we must ensure we never fall for their wiles. And we can do that by keeping our wits, as well as our blades, sharp. Wits are more important than brute strength,"

"What do you get on by, seeing as you possess little of either commodity?" Elizabeth said from behind him. Not technically true; seeing as he defeated the pirate armada. Beckett turned to her, unruffled.

"And here's our demonstration. Miss Swann what do you use?" he gestured to the gleaming weapons set out on a side table. Elizabeth glanced at them, before she folded her arms and flicked her trailing ringlet over her shoulder, loose limbed and confident.

"The sabre," she said nonchalantly.

Groves tossed it to her, and she caught it one-handed, twirling it expertly.

"Impressive," Beckett remarked dryly. He took his stance, raising his weapon. Elizabeth hesitated.

"I'm fighting you?" she asked, slightly taken aback. The gathered men snickered, as Beckett raised an eyebrow superciliously.

"Is there a problem with that, Miss Swann?" he asked, his grin triumphant. Elizabeth's eyes narrowed.

"If you think to turn this into a humiliation, Lord Beckett, you are sorely mistaken!"

"Such fire! I do hope your skills can match your smart tongue," he said as they began to circle, "Let's say first blood. One lock of hair, my sweet?"

"You're going to wish you were never born, Beckett!" Elizabeth growled as she attacked. Their blades met with a screech of metal.

As they duelled back and forth, Elizabeth realised very quickly that she had underestimated Lord Beckett. He fought as he did most things; totally in control and ruthlessly. His bladework was precise, not using more energy than was needed. But Elizabeth was, as he had said during his speech, a pirate. She had a few tricks up her sleeve.

As he backed her into the mast, still swiping and cutting at her defences, she jumped up onto a barrel to escape him. He swiped at her ankles, and she jumped. She turned the jump into a flip, carrying herself over his shoulders and behind him. She smirked triumphantly, and brought her sabre down in an arc, towards his head. He met it with an overhead parry, turning and striking quicker than a snake. Their blades locked together, and Elizabeth was yanked close to him. Her teeth were gritted; sweat trailing down her spine in the heat, her hair dishevelled. Beckett looked at her with mock concern.

"You look a trifle flushed, Miss Swann. Do you wish to concede?" he asked quietly, his smirk cruelly triumphant. Elizabeth pushed away her tiredness, and growled in reply.

"You wish, Beckett!"

* * *

Elizabeth disengaged and feinted to the right, before slashing to the left in a complicated rhythm of twirls and lunges. Beckett easily compensated. Their duel turned into a dance, both participants moving to an unheard beat, their feet weaving and skipping so fast they appeared a blur. Elizabeth couldn't help but appreciate his skill, as well as the muscles bunching and tensing beneath the cotton of his shirt every time he moved. Her mouth dried unexpectedly, as she spun and weaved around him, their bodies intertwining and disengaging like their weapons. When she met Beckett's eyes, she saw the same awareness of their physical state in them as she felt, and rebelled against it. She may have allowed him to kiss her a fortnight ago, but she was stronger now. She would not be caught so easily. But desire had already begun to take hold, insidious and compelling. Elizabeth felt her knees weaken, and knew if she didn't finish their fight soon, she would be on her knees, or in his arms. And that her pride refused to allow.

With a twirl, she skipped to the side, and slashed at Beckett's head. But it was a mistake; it left her head open to attack. She felt a ripple in the air, and a slight tugging. But she didn't care; she hit her mark.. When she spun back to face Beckett, he had a curl of her hair perfectly balancing on the tip of his sword. He smiled predatorily, triumphantly.

"I win," he remarked.

But his smile dimmed somewhat as she slowly held up a single lock of white hair. His hand went to the tail of his wig, and Elizabeth smirked this time.

"Not this time, my lord,"

Clapping erupted from all around them; their display had been sufficiently impressive that the assembled officers were awed.

"A fair victory, my dear," Beckett conceded, but his eyes flashed. Not with anger, or frustration but with a warning. One Elizabeth interpreted with a shiver of desire. The sun suddenly seemed overwhelming, and she quickly escaped, not noticing Lord Beckett's similar disappearance.

* * *

Elizabeth slipped into the cool darkness of the hold. Around her, barrels of gunpowder and various other products stood stacked, like great mountain ranges within the hold. Elizabeth tried to slow her breathing, panicked as it was by the need to escape from Lord Beckett. Her hands shook, her lips were flushed and Elizabeth could feel her knees ready to fold. The flaming desire she had seen within his eyes had sent such shockwaves throughout her being. She had not only underestimated him on the battlefield but on a more personal level too. She had always thought he was like ice; cool and unbreakable as stone. But he looked set to burn her alive.

A hand shot out and pulled Elizabeth into the space between a beam and a stack of gunpowder kegs. She opened her mouth to scream, and would have done, were it not for the cool, hard lips suddenly covering her own. She froze, recognising them instantly, until the drugging feel of his lips on hers, seductive and alluring, called to her senses. With a sigh she gave in, opening her mouth to Beckett's invasion.

His tongue surged in, commanding, demanding. Slowly he seduced her, pulling her into a world of sensual need, a whirling vortex of physical pleasures. Elizabeth, breathless, wrenched her lips free, desperate to breathe, desperate to think. Beckett's lips slid over her chin and onto her neck, kissing ardently at her pulse points. She moaned, her body responding eagerly, her mind blissfully blank. She pressed her head back against the beam, baring her throat to his ravishing kisses. He shifted against her, and she bit her lip, senses drugged by the hard evidence of desire pressed against her abdomen. But slowly her pride awoke; she would not be so easily caught!

As his lips tried to return to hers, she reared her head back and away, only facing him when Beckett drew back slightly, releasing her.

* * *

"If you try to kiss me again, I'll scream!" she warned him huskily.

"And who do you imagine will hear you?" he said, irritatingly superior. Infuriated, she slapped him hard across the cheek, hitting her mark this time, before turning and attempting to walk away. Beckett snatched her back, gripping her arm in the iron vise of his fingers. He swung her hard against the beam, pinning her wrists against the hard wood.

"I think, my dear, that if you were going to scream, you would have done so already," he whispered against her lips, before he took them, scalding her senses in a rush of searing desire. Elizabeth's defences stood firm for one moment, before they wilted. She gave in again to his demands with an exasperated sigh, shifting against his blatant arousal provocatively. He groaned, released her wrists, and twined his arms around her waist, simultaneously hauling her closer and crushing her back against the beam. Elizabeth gave in to the clamouring needs of her body, and rested one hand on his shoulder, her touch burning through the thin cotton of his shirt. The other hand slid beneath his wig, into the softness of his hair, revelling in the surprising silkiness. When she undulated against him, using all of her limited expertise, he pulled away from her lips and growled, "You're treading on thin ice,"

Elizabeth didn't answer, just arched as he began to devour her neck, hands frantically pulling at her shirt, exposing the peach skin of her décolletage. She arched her neck back, gasping as Beckett trailed hot, yearning kisses across her collarbone and the tops of her breasts, exposed by her corset. Elizabeth felt her body melt, hot desire welling at the base of her spine, insistently begging for attention. Passion descended, an enthralling haze blocking out all else. Only a compulsion remained, one that insidiously wormed its way into their consciousnesses.

As their lips rejoined, Elizabeth felt her kiss turn entreating, begging Beckett to end her misery and take her. She felt as though hot coals were being dragged across her skin with each touch, with each kiss. His hand left her waist; rising to his breeches…..

* * *

"Oi! Get three more barrels of gunpowder up from the hold!" someone yelled.

Dimly, Elizabeth heard footsteps descending into the hold. Beckett released her, and she slumped against the beam, body unable to support itself. He pulled her around and further into the darkness of the hold, holding her, both imprisoned and supported, in the circle of his arms. In the gap between two stacks of barrels, she saw a blue-coated figure, which she recognised as Lieutenant Eckert, moving barrels and cursing eloquently beneath his breath.

Slowly the tension between Elizabeth and Beckett dimmed, not leaving them but held at bay, denied fulfilment. Elizabeth looked back at him, still breathing heavily. But with Lieutenant Eckert in the hold, continuing their interlude was impossible. Even if she had wanted to.

But at that moment, Elizabeth didn't know if she wanted him to continue or not. Her body pulled her one way, her mind another.

Beckett touched his lips to her wrist. Heat flared at the simple touch, and Elizabeth escaped from his arms with a shudder.

"Until later then, Miss Swann," he inclined his head. Elizabeth raised a haughty brow, skin deliciously warm, but didn't dare to reply, before the flames in his eyes. She slipped from the hold, stealing softly past Lieutenant Eckert, who was still oblivious, searching for a particular barrel. Beckett followed her with stormy, desire-filled eyes.


	5. Denial

Fire and Ice

* * *

Elizabeth stumbled into her cabin and clutched her chest, breathing hard. Her lips still throbbed and her spine felt like jelly. Dull panic filled her head. Oh God, what had she let herself in for!

Fire still ran through her veins, tautening her spine and accelerating her breathing. God he was dangerous! Lord Beckett's taste still clung to her tongue, the shape and texture of his lips lingering on her own.

"Elizabeth? Are you alright?" her father called to her. She ignored him, running into her rooms and shutting the door. She leant against the door, collecting herself before she slowly walked to the window and sat on the ledge, leaning her hot forehead against the cool glass. She needed to cool down. She needed a cold bath.

Spotting the ewer of cool water, she gladly peeled off her sweaty shirt, chemise and breeches, and proceeded to sponge herself down, savouring the cold droplets of water that ran down her spine. Cooling herself off, washing away the tension present in her frame. God, why did she let him get so close?

She was going to be in for it the next time he got her alone. Which she knew he would; he had not only the temperament of a viper but the cunning of one too. Elizabeth sighed as she let her long hair down from its elegant style, ruffled and drooping from the duel and the…events that had followed. Sighing, she heard the door open and close, guessing that her maid, Holly, had come in. She set the sponge back in the ewer and reached for her dressing gown.

* * *

A hand swiped the sponge as her maid started washing her back, gently pressing against her spine, moving steadily lower. Elizabeth crossed her arms over her chest, relaxing. But then Holly's hands slid around her waist and up, and Elizabeth felt a cold sting on the sensitive skin below her breast. She looked down, and saw the twinkle of a horribly familiar signet ring against the skin of her midriff. She gasped and tried to spin around, but his arms pulled her back, into the trap of his embrace. She felt his chest against her bare back, and she shivered. His hard lips caressed the nape of her neck, as she sank against him, her eyes closing despite her will. His hand dropped the sponge, to gently caress up the line of her breastbone.

"What….what are you doing here?" Elizabeth had to stop and lick her dry lips, as she felt desire take ahold of her muscles again, coiling them as tight as thumbscrews. Beckett paused, his hands stilling on her skin, his hot breath brushing against her skin, raising the hairs on the back of her neck.

"You didn't really think I'd let you escape that easily?" he breathed, but before Elizabeth could turn, he spun her around and backed her against the wall. Elizabeth felt her body blush, as she realised his gaze was travelling over her body, taking in her beauty. Digging up her last reserves of willpower, Elizabeth shut her eyes to the sight of him, and pushed him away forcefully, grabbing her dressing gown, like a shield around her body.

"Get away from me! Call yourself a gentleman?" she asked, flustered, not daring to take the time to slip the garment on, just wrapping it around her body. Beckett's eyes flashed but she merely tilted her chin haughtily.

"I never claimed to be a gentleman; I am a nobleman. A distinction that you must learn and you will, very soon, my dear," he murmured, as he stalked towards her. Elizabeth slid away from the wall, wondering where she could retreat to in her tiny cabin, only half-clothed, with the door locked, no doubt. To her bed, as it happened.

Elizabeth felt the edge of the bunk behind her knees, her eyes still hypnotised by the fire in Beckett's, and she toppled backwards, just managing to keep ahold of her robe. She glared up at Beckett, breathless and flushed, the amusement sparking in those azure eyes of his.

"I'm not your anything, Beckett!" she growled, trying to sit up. Beckett walked forward, and Elizabeth paused, watching him suspiciously. He knelt beside her, and took her chin in his fingers. Elizabeth wished she had the strength to lift her chin away, but she was trapped in those eyes of his, powerless, unable to break free. The bird waiting for the snake to strike. He struck in a forceful kiss so full of fire and passion, that Elizabeth felt herself melt. Their tongues duelled for an instant, before he broke away, his body pressing into hers teasingly for a moment, as he stood, and straightened his cuffs.

"We will see, my Elizabeth. You're to dine with me at eight. Don't be late," he said briskly, as he marched out of the cabin. Elizabeth watched him go, her mouth slightly open, her breathing ragged and shallow.

* * *

_That Evening…_

Elizabeth felt dull panic as she walked along the passageway to Beckett's cabin. What was she to do? She knew what he wanted, had felt the physical evidence of his desire for her only that morning, and seeing that they were to be married as soon as they made Port Royal, she could not see how she could avoid giving it to him. Not when her body was in alt at the prospect.

_Whatever he may do, whatever he may say, I will not give in without a fight,_ Elizabeth thought determinedly, her spine stiffening, her chin elevating proudly.

For that evening, she had dressed elegantly, in a deep gold gown that matched her hair, bringing out the amber tints in her brown eyes. The neckline brushed the top of her sternum, the close-fitting sleeves flaring from her elbows like waterfalls of gold lace so fine it could have been spun by spiders. The skirts were overlaid with _eau de Nil_ silk, draping her curves lovingly. Her brown hair was swept up, a few stray curls brushing the nape of her neck, mingling with the simple gold earrings adorning her ears. The only other piece of jewellery she wore was a plain bracelet, given to her by her mother on her fourth birthday. In a way, she hoped her dress would help to hide her true feelings and give her the strength and the shield to deny his Arrogant Lordship.

She knocked on his cabin door, smoothing her skirts, taking a deep breath.

"Come," she entered the cabin.

The cabin was laid out the same as the night she had arrived on the _Endeavour_, the grand dining table set out with a mouth-watering spread, candles glowing in their holders. And his arrogant Lordship was seated in his chair, admiring a glass filled with some ruby liquid. He looked up and, with a momentary swop to Elizabeth's pride, gazed at her hungrily. But then the fire in his icy eyes struck her and she had to hide her gasp, fighting the answering flames within her.

"My Lord," Elizabeth inclined her head, as he rose and came towards her. She fought the trembling in her knees as he took her hand and kissed her fingertips.

"My Lady," he murmured, as Elizabeth's eyes narrowed.

"Not yet," she muttered archly, one fine eyebrow curving upwards.

"_That_ is a matter of opinion," he replied. "But come; sit," he saw the uncertainty in her eyes, wondering when he was going to pounce, and he sighed. "Elizabeth I promise not to bite,"

Not yet, anyway, he finished silently.

Elizabeth nodded and allowed him to lead her to one of the chairs, his hand lying on her back possessively. She sat, and so did he.

The meal passed in silence, Elizabeth too aware of the brush of fiery awareness over her nerves, rendering them taut and expectant. Finally, Beckett threw down his napkin and walked to the drinks cabinet, Elizabeth tensing in readiness.

* * *

"You promised not to bite," she reminded him, her tone steady despite the fluttering of her pulse.

"I didn't promise to do so indefinitely," Beckett said, as he walked up fast behind Elizabeth. She shivered as she felt his fingertips brush across her nape, quickly followed by his lips. "We have some issues to discuss, do we not?"

"Yes. And I warn you now; your seduction will not work on me. Many have tried and none have succeeded," Elizabeth informed him briskly, unable to stand and face him. His purr in her ear was disconcerting, blind as she was.

"Ahh, yes, those syphilitic pirates. How little you truly know of seduction, Elizabeth," his sensual tone sent shivers down Elizabeth's spine.

"That's Miss Swann to you," she replied tersely. She'd had enough. She stood, shrugging off his restraining hand. She faced him defiantly. "You won't seduce me; I'll simply call your bluff,"

"Who says I won't answer it?" he replied. Elizabeth stilled, fear creeping over her body.

"You would take me by force?" she whispered, watching his eyes carefully. Beckett snorted derisively.

"I would never take a lady by force. Oh my dear, how little you know of seduction. I would answer your bluff because there would be no bluff to answer. You want this as much as I," he replied, setting down his glass, swigging down the last of the brandy within it. "Speaking of which, I believe we have a little something we need to finish from this afternoon,"

Elizabeth backed away from him, towards his massive desk, her eyes wide. Her own desire, rising at his words, flared almost painfully, her skin flushing with anticipation. Her lips parted, her breath escaping in little pants, her breasts rising and falling above the line of her bodice. In the candlelight, she looked like a glittering jewel, and she was all his.

* * *

Beckett smiled and sprung his trap. He cornered her, one hand around her waist, as he ran his lips up her neck, taking pleasure in the catch in her breathing, and over her lips. Her head tilted back, her body betraying her, as she melted into his arms.

"Elizabeth…." His own desire escaped him in a whispered breath, her name slipping from his mouth. He bent his head…

"No!" Elizabeth turned her face aside, and slid from his grasp. She rounded the desk, keeping an eye on him from the corner of hers. "I won't give in,"

Why are you denying yourself? You won't be able to escape this when we are married," he reminded her. She merely glared at him, still leading him a merry dance around the desk. "For God's sake just stand still!"

"And let you get your hands on me? I don't think so," Elizabeth muttered, forgetting he could hear. He stopped his pursuit with an amused smirk.

"So I affect you? Well that's a start,"

"I have perfectly good reasons for running from you." Elizabeth retorted, unable to keep her tongue in check.

"Such as?"

"I don't feel the need to divulge them," Elizabeth said, still rounding the desk, he following.

"This is insane! Elizabeth, just stand still!" at the compelling order, Elizabeth froze, facing him from across the wide expanse of mahogany, littered with papers and maps. Both their breathing was ragged and shallow, Elizabeth's skin tinged with rose, her eyes glittering in the light from the lanterns. "Now kindly tell me why you deny yourself what you've wanted since the moment we met?"

"I haven't….." Elizabeth saw the warning flash in his eyes. "I was only a little girl when we first met, if you'll recall,"

"Ahh I wondered if you'd remembered. You have grown since then, but I can still see the same fiery, innocent young girl,"

"Hardly a girl. Stop distracting me," Elizabeth barked irritably, struggling to think, to remember her reasons for denying him.

"My apologies, my dear Miss Swann," he mock bowed, a solemn expression on his immaculate face, and Elizabeth couldn't help but smile. "Now your reasons?"

"None you need know," Elizabeth snapped back to her hostile shield, raising her chin haughtily.

"You are without doubt, the most obstinate young woman I have ever had the misfortune to encounter," Beckett growled under his breath, and Elizabeth's eyes flashed.

"And you, my lord, are without doubt the most arrogant, presumptuous, egotistical…"

Suddenly, taking advantage of Elizabeth's distraction, Beckett vaulted the desk. Elizabeth yelped in surprise and went to slide away from him again, but he grabbed her by the waist and pushed her back into the desk, leaning back over it, her hands splayed over the surface. He trapped them under his own, so he was leant over her, her eyes given no choice but to look into his.

"Finished yet?" he enquired, an arrogant smirk on his smooth lips. Elizabeth gulped, as her gaze flicked down to them and back again. She nodded breathlessly. "Well then….."

"Why are you doing this?" her voice was a mere whisper just before their lips touched. Beckett paused, not letting her go, but not ignoring her question either. Elizabeth was surprised; she'd expected him to just simply kiss her into oblivion and ignore her pertinent question.

"Because you want this. And I want you," he replied simply, after a silence that nearly broke her nerves into quivering shreds. All her plans to remain aloof had melted into thin air, as he bent his head and kissed her.

* * *

All the feelings she'd had in the hold came rushing back, as he pulled her into his arms. Unresisting she went, giving him back passion for flame, enticement for the molten lava he seemed to be pouring down her veins, melting the ice holding her spine upright. His hands left her waist to sweep downwards, over the curve of her skirt. Elizabeth's breath hitched.

In one sudden move, he picked her up to sit on the desk, his hands returning to their place around her waist. Elizabeth gasped and grabbed his shoulders for balance, hauling him closer. She slid her hands in under his wig, and flicked it off, burying her fingers in the silken waves of gilded hair. He groaned and released her lips, trailing open-mouthed, heated kisses down her neck, following the vein curving lazily down the line of marble flesh. Elizabeth moaned and her hands clenched in his hair. She released him to push at his coat, getting it half-off before he released her neck with a frustrated groan. He shrugged the coat off, taking his waistcoat with it, and stepped back into her arms. She tried to kiss him again but he avoided her lips.

"My turn now," he whispered against her mouth, as his hands rose to her bodice. Elizabeth sucked in a breath, feeling a sharp tug at the clasp of her dress. The other hand crept beneath her skirts, following the curve of her thigh, pulling her closer to him. Elizabeth felt as though she would burst, until she felt his lips leave hers, drifting down her neck to her breast, now bare in the golden candlelight. Her hands clenched, at the feel of hot lips caressing and worshipping her flesh. She arched, pressing her body into his hands and his lips, and he snatched her closer eagerly. She pulled her sleeves down her shoulders, unselfconsciously baring herself to his gaze. He devoured her visually, the icy blue of his eyes transmuting to a shimmering azure silver. His eyes raised back to hers, and he kissed her gently.

"You're so beautiful," he sighed, before he kissed her again. Elizabeth just sank into his embrace, pulling him against her. The fire in her veins built into an unbearable pressure, her body crying out for all that she had never gotten to have. She felt his hands leave her, and rise to his breeches, as she tore his shirt from him, running her palms over the scalding skin. His hands trailed down her neck, and into her hair, supporting her, possessively inspecting all he intended to possess. "And you're mine,"

Elizabeth felt a shiver down her spine at the whisper, predatorial and as uncompromising as ice. Her breath pressed her naked torso against his chest, and she gasped at the sensitivity of her skin. As he whispered that last against her lips, she felt him against her, pushing into her body. He met a barrier and stopped. She sensed the power build as he thrust into her body, through her maidenhead, and she cried out in pain, holding him to her. He stopped, waiting as slowly the agony faded, replaced by the warm throbbing at her core, as he began to move again, rolling into her body. Elizabeth arched her neck back, feeling the pressure coalesce. He tumbled her back onto the desk, holding her to him by her hips, stilling within her. His lips reclaimed hers, distracting her, his hands re-exploring her curves, trailing over the satin smooth skin. He rocked into her once more, and Elizabeth arched-

* * *

There came a sudden explosion, which Elizabeth's brain dimly recognised as a cannonball colliding with something. The two stilled, as Elizabeth blinked up at Beckett, conscious of disappointment welling throughout her core. He sighed as they heard running footsteps above, and withdrew from her. Elizabeth barely had time to make herself decent before Lieutenant Groves rushed into the room.

"Sir! The _Black Pearl_ has been sighted off the port bow. They're gaining steadily and firing on us! What are your orders?"

Beckett rushed out of the room, already barking orders, before he turned and looked back at Elizabeth, and at the expression in her eyes.

"Don't go anywhere. Don't leave this room. I will return soon," he reminded her sternly, Elizabeth glared at him.

Suddenly she rushed to him, as the ship was rocked again by another cannonade hit, and kissed him frantically on the lips.

"Be careful," she whispered as she let him go. He stroked her cheek in a surprising show of tenderness and sprinted off, hard on the heels of Groves. Elizabeth sighed as she drifted to the window and looked out on the achingly familiar ship drawing ever closer to them. And in that moment she truly did not know whether she wanted to be rescued or remain with Beckett. She leant her head on the cool glass, still feeling the aftermath of their interrupted, unfinished lovemaking. Tremors swept her spine, weakening her knees, the flames of their joint passion torturing her further. She closed her eyes tiredly.

What had he done to her?


	6. Fulfilment

Fire and Ice

* * *

Elizabeth paced the floor of Lord Beckett's cabin, flinching every time she heard the hull take a direct hit. At last, unable to take anymore, she rushed to the door, yanked it open and ran on deck. And into chaos.

A cannonball erupted through a gunwale, and Elizabeth felt it ruffle her skirts as it passed. She jumped aside, landing hard against the mast. All around her, men lay dying or wounded, pirates swinging onto the deck bearing pistols and cutlasses. She spotted Beckett on the quarterdeck, and quickly ducked out of sight.

"Elizabeth!" a pair of hands grasped her shoulders and swung her into the gap beneath the stairs. Elizabeth looked up into the worried eyes of her father. "What are you doing out here?"

"I couldn't stay in the cabin, Father. Not in the middle of a battle. I want to help!" Elizabeth shouted above the noise. Governor Swann shot her a surprised look.

"Elizabeth, it is too dangerous! Go back to the cabin!" Swann shouted over the noise.

"Father, I won't!" but her words were drowned out by another cannon hit, the gunwale beside them exploding outwards. Elizabeth was thrown sideways, her head impacting against the wooden deck. Everything went black.

* * *

Groggily, Elizabeth came to; feeling a heavy throbbing in her head. She slowly opened her eyes, feeling as though it would explode. What had just happened?

"Elizabeth!" a pair of strong hands helped her stand, and instantly she felt safe despite the sounds of cannon fire still echoing around her. She looked up into cool blue eyes, and felt her world anchored.

"Beckett! What happened?" she asked tremblingly, as his warm arms came around her, helping her to remain upright, giving her some rock to cling to in the rapidly spinning world.

"I told you to remain in the cabin!" his furious voice barely punctured Elizabeth's fear, as slowly her memory of the past few moments came back to her. Her father…

Elizabeth's gaze slid sideways, at the body of her father, a wound in his head bleeding copiously, the grey periwig shredded beyond repair. "Father!"

With an anguished cry, Elizabeth tore free of her captor's arms to fling herself beside her sire, feeling desperately for his pulse. There was none, just blood and lots of it, covering her fingers. Her father was dead. "NO!"

She collapsed, weeping, onto his brocaded chest, feeling the grief sink in deep. This was the last straw; first Will, then her father. Why was life so cruel?

This was her fault; if he hadn't been so busy arguing with his obstinate daughter he might've been able to duck away from the cannon ball. It was all her fault.

* * *

Suddenly warmth punctured the black, roiling swamp of her misery, the scalding tears checked as strong arms came around her, offering comfort and support. She cried into a froth of lace at the base of his throat, clinging to him, as he tried to comfort her, hushing her tears. He lifted her into his arms, and carried her away from the site of carnage, as the pirates fled into the distance.

Elizabeth stared miserably at the wooden planks that formed the wall of Beckett's cabin, feeling the sobs that had wracked her body dissipate, her sorrow deadening. Her fiancé had carried her away from her father's corpse, and to his cabin, laying her on the bed and bidding her rest until he returned. She could hear his footsteps approaching, and at that moment felt her sorrow transmute into something else. She just wanted to forget everything now. With him. To finish what they had started only mere hours before; as the sun rose over the horizon, flashes of gold and pink tingeing the windows.

* * *

The door opened; and she felt him approach her, kneeling on the bed, bending over her. "Elizabeth?"

Feeling his warm breath on the nape of her neck, she shivered and turned over, staring at him with red-rimmed eyes, her unshed tears making them glisten like gems. Her hair was ruffled and dishevelled, torn from its elegant style, falling around her face in soft waves, framing her tear-stained face, her lips swollen and red. Beckett caught his breathe looking at her, seeing the invitation in her eyes. "Elizabeth…."

"Please," she whispered pleadingly, pulling his lips to hers. In that moment she needed him so desperately, she almost couldn't breathe. She needed to forget, now, in his arms, with him. Beckett could feel his control slipping away, as her mouth fastened onto his greedily, inciting his deepest desires, her hands sliding into his hair, knocking the wig away. She had to be insane.

That particular observation was further reinforced when she pulled her down on top of her on the bed, shredding his senses, at the feel of softly feminine curves against his body. He groaned into her mouth, her tongue driving him demented. When had the pupil become the master?

Her hands were frantic, tearing away his waistcoat and shirt, impatiently pushing at his coat when he realised what was really happening. It was like that first night, her first night onboard the _Endeavour_. She wanted nothing more than to forget the sorrow of losing yet another loved one by giving herself to him, wholeheartedly this time. She was ready to become his. Ready to give in.

Pausing slightly at the revelation, Beckett framed her face and recaptured control of the kiss, angling his head over hers, powerfully taking all she offered, before he pulled apart her bodice, sliding the tight sleeves down her arms, easing the blood-stained gown from her body. Elizabeth shivered and clung to him, twining her arms around his neck, keeping his hot skin against hers. She needed him inside her now. So when he tumbled her back into the bed, she arched, offering herself flagrantly, unafraid. Beckett took full advantage; pressing scalding caresses down her neck, trailing over her breasts through the silken chemise, his hands already easing the corset from her. Elizabeth could only moan and arch wildly, teeth gritted against the rising need. She could feel him harden against her abdomen, at her movement, feel his agonised groan. He sat up and shrugged aside his coat, waistcoat and the rest of his clothes, reaching for her. Elizabeth smiled and pulled her chemise over her head, flinging it away, feeling tears trail down her cheeks. Beckett's gaze hungrily devoured her; before he lowered his body back to hers, taking her mouth in a storm of passion and desire, their minds wiped clean. She writhed beneath the evidence of his desire, inciting his need, urging him to take her, once and for all. All thoughts of resistance had long since disappeared, from the moment she had felt his warm arms keeping her sane as she'd wept over her father's corpse.

"Elizabeth…" at the whisper, she shifted against him, as his hands left her breast and waist, to trail down her legs, moving them gently outward, spreading hot caresses up the inside, drifting to the core of her desire. Where she burned with it, as if on fire. A moment later she felt his fingers inside, making her lose her mind, driving her insane with pleasure and need, driving her over the peak. She felt satiation flood her, as with an aroused cry, she let go of everything. He kissed her hungrily, feeling ready to explode, as he withdrew his fingers from her body and replaced them with his body, sliding into her. He leant his forehead on her chest, teeth gritted against the urge to ravish her, at the feel of her scalding heat around him. She'd tensed, probably expecting that same sharp pain as before. He forced himself to raise his head and gently caress her lips with his own, sending her a reassuring, albeit pained, smile.

"Relax. You won't feel that pain ever again," he breathed, as he felt her exhale shakily and slowly relaxed. Keeping eye contact, he withdrew and returned, thrusting into her body. Elizabeth's breath hitched, her beautiful golden eyes widening, before she arched, urging him deeper as he repeated the manoeuvre. She clutched his back, as the tempo increased, feeling the pressure within build, as he stretched her body, claiming her for his own. She cried out as he thrust roughly into her, feeling his lips return to her body, suckling her breast, pulling her up against his body as he devoured her. She felt as though she would explode with the pleasure he was inflicting on her body, rocking her head back against the pillows of his bed with the force of his movement, identical gasps breaking from their lips. He kissed her again, hungrily, passionately, as aggressively as she needed him to be. She could feel everything; the strong muscles beneath her fingers, the hair of his legs against the sensitive inner faces of her thighs, hot and hard inside her body, his passionate mouth on lips, her face, her neck, her breast. Anywhere and everywhere she needed him to be. Fulfilling her, and him.

At the thought she felt herself come apart, crying out at the intense pleasure, as he groaned bestially, kissing her wildly, their tongues duelling before he slumped over her, his warmth filling her womb. Exhausted and sweaty, he withdrew from her body, and rolled off her, tucking her against his side. She kissed the hand on her collarbone tiredly, grateful for the release he had given her; the forgetfulness his touch could bring on, the peace.

They had come together, fire and ice, and joined in harmony. Snuggling back against him, feeling very much possessed. She was his.

Feeling his breath deepen into slumber, she willed herself to sleep.

Her last thought was; maybe being married to Lord Beckett won't be such a bad thing, after all.

_**The End**_


End file.
